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The duke! Why wonder he had been granted the castle as a prize.
“You must be very tired,” he said. “I shall take you to your bedchamber.” He handed his cloak to Lionel.
“Will you... join me?” she asked quietly, aware
of the movement of servants around them, bringing in her luggage.
He smiled. “I think you need your sleep. Tomorrow, you should prepare yourself for my examination. Once this is complete, we will know what path to take.”
She felt the pit of her stomach knot. Perhaps the nuns might have been a better option. It was too late now; she was imprisoned in his castle and unlikely to find her way home without help.
She curtsied. “Good night, my lord.”
Her bedchamber was larger than the one in her father’s castle. The floor was thick with fresh rushes, the walls covered with rich tapestries, and the high bed sumptuously adorned with bedding and pillows.
Sara pressed her hand down on the mattress. “Feathers, my lady, and wool. No straw for you,” she said enviously.
Matilda was too tired to undress. She lay down, her head on the bolster, and before Sara could blow out the lights, she was asleep.
Chapter Seven
The morning brought strong sunlight through the slatted windows. Yawning, Matilda stretched and threw off the covers. Sara, with the help of another maid, was filling a copper tub placed by the rejuvenated fire. The steam rose into cool air. On the table was a tray of bread and cheese for breakfast.
“His lordship says you are to bathe, eat, and be prepared. He’s sent a lily-white shift for you to wear.”
“A shift? I have plenty.” She wandered over to the table and nibbled at the bread.
“Not like this one.” Sara giggled. She held up the white knee-length shirt.
“It’s torn.” Matilda laughed. “I’ll wear my own.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not torn, it is split down the middle. There are laces.”
Matilda moved closer to inspect. “But this is the front.”
Sara’s face was crimson. The other maid was strangely quiet and undisturbed by the nature of the conversation.
“You’re to put it on and lie on the bed. After your bath.”
Matilda stared at the plain fabric, its purpose slowly dawning on her. She was to be unwrapped, presented to him, and he would see her naked from neck to ankle. Her heart quickened and her throat tightened. Gervais was not taking his plans lightly.
“What, my lady?” Sara touched her sleeve.
“He’ll find out.” She slumped onto the chair. “I thought he would overlook this part of the arrangement. That he couldn’t possibly determine the truth from looking at me. But he won’t just be looking, will he, he’ll touch me, and then he’ll know.”
Sara gave the other maid a quick glance. “I think he knows anyway.”
“Nobody knows the truth, not even my father. I only told him that Father Mark touched me inappropriately.”
Sara took her trembling hand. “Did he hurt you?”
Matilda shook her head. “A little. But I did not ask him to stop. Don’t you see, I am soiled by him. Gervais will treat me contemptibly if he knows that I will do anything, things that no other woman would consider without shame.”
“Tell him, my lady. He does not seem a cruel man.”
Matilda laughed half-heartedly. “You think not? You’ve not heard him describe what he will do to me if I disobey him.”
“Then obey him.”
